Fate Alchemist - A Regression Academy LitRPG

Mantri was bored. Really bored. Every day, every night, waiting, doing nothing. Perhaps the worst part was hearing news from other Messengers. Not that their assigned Ascendants were doing terribly well—frankly, while there had been a deluge of Grand Marks to distribute after the first attacks, no one was going to get more than one. No one except Wulf and Kalee, it seemed.

But the fact that his Ascendant was poised to shake the foundations of the world didn't make this existence any less…boring.

He paced back and forth across a realm of golden and white light. The floor was rough, strands of mana made almost manifest. The Fieldrealm wasn't a real place, but it wasn't completely unreal, either. A parallel reality maintained by the Field itself, similar to the area within storage pendants.

Light poured down from above, making Mantri's pelt ripple, but the realm extended as far as the eye could see, never bending, never shifting. An endless plane of gold and white. Faint dots appeared through the fog of distance, being the other Messengers. They sat, curled up comfortably, or sunned themselves in the light. Some walked side-by-side, curling their tails together, and others tussled playfully. Not one seemed discontent. It was just him.

Mantri's paws ached from walking on the ridges of the floor. Each strand of mana was a weaving of existence, and they couldn't just smooth it out, but cats weren't exactly built for this environment, either. There were creatures that were, but he rarely saw them.

Sometimes, Mantri even noticed a human travelling through the Field, bearing themselves great distances after ripping a hole in it and crossing the world in a few steps.

But none of the other Messengers seemed to care if they were meant for this or not. They just did the Field's bidding, followed the twangs in the mana cords, followed the universe's will, and never questioned their lot in life.

With a sigh, Mantri unsheathed a claw, then sliced into the cords. Sometimes, he'd cut one or two, just to see what would happen. Make a pebble disappear from existence, or make a river flow the opposite direction temporarily. Take a human's sock, or vapourize some silverware. Little things.

But today, he cut a temporary hole into the fabric of the real world, creating a window, and watched. The threads parted, buoyed by an invisible wind, making a misty viewport no larger than his head. If he could fit his head through it, the rest of him could come too.

Wulf. His assigned Ascendant. The boy sat in an underground cavern today. It was part of the new school he was attending, deep underground. A combat arena, where they fought each other for prizes?

Mantri would never understand that about humans. Fighting for prizes? When the Messengers had their little play scuffles, they just did it for fun. Mantri rarely participated, but there were never prizes.

Then again, in here, there was nothing to fight over.

He looked on from the side, peering in from the shadows. He was beneath a bench in the risers, right between a pair of students, and it gave him the perfect view of the fight in the arena below, and of Wulf, a row in front of him.

But nothing was happening. Wulf was an audience member, sitting, watching something. Two of his friends were there—the elf and the pangian—but the blue one wasn't.

Ah, that was probably why the three were in the crowd, and not fighting. Their blue friend was in the arena. Or getting ready to fight.

For a few more minutes, Mantri watched from the shadows, growing more and more bored with the real world, too. The arena, though a vast cavern, wasn't terribly interesting. The risers were full of people, but if he left his cover, if he stepped through the window between worlds, he'd be in trouble. People would want to know who was getting a Grand Mark, and he wouldn't have one to give. After all, he couldn't give anything without the will of the Field, anyway. He was just a transmitter.

A Messenger.

Why did you have to make me? he thought. He directed his thoughts at the Field, but it'd never answered any of his questions anyway. It was always silent.

He wasn't necessary, wasn't needed, wasn't important for anything. Why couldn't the Field just send a Grand Mark directly to the Ascendants? They all had their fancy bracers now anyway, and with all the enchanted parchment they used, they were practically turning everything about magic into a science.

Besides, the world wasn't anywhere close to taking out the demons. At this rate, they were going to lose, and if the world died, so did the Field. By extension, so did Mantri.

Nothing matters. Nothing.

Then maybe it was time to have a little fun. Just a quick jaunt out, bug Wulf a little, then return like nothing ever happened. Everyone was watching the fight, and no one would notice him slipping through a hole in the fabric of the universe.

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Flattening his ears back and taking a deep breath, Mantri pushed through the hole he'd cut, then slunk out.

~ ~ ~

Wulf wasn't expecting his first visit to the arena to be as a member of the audience, but here he was, sitting in the stands, waiting for the fight to begin.

Seith's fight. She was the first in their group scheduled. It'd be a few days, and even weeks, before the other fights could begin.

He couldn't just not attend and let her fight on her own, without an audience of friends. He leaned back on the bench. A ring of wooden risers circled the arena, giving plenty of room for the students and civilians to watch. And there were plenty of civilians. Even if the academy only had four thousand students, the arena could hold at least ten times that.

Tonight, it was about half full. There hadn't been enough time for the audience to pick favourites, and the Middle Bracket fights weren't the big draw, anyway. It was the High Bracket fights that drew crowds.

Wulf leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. The crowd was silent as the two contestants marched out into the arena. He'd already felt [Bastion] trigger, giving him a slight speed and strength boost, though he wouldn't need it. But that meant that Seith had used the potion he'd given her.

On the far side of the arena, a man in a golem walked out. It was made of enamel-white marble. The outer shell was perfectly polished, and its shoulder pauldrons bore large, flaunting fins. Atop its helmet was a large spike that angled backward, giving it an aerodynamic profile.

That had to be Seith's brother.

On Wulf's side of the arena, Seith marched out into the light. Though it was nighttime, her mana-fuelled constructs shone brightly, illuminating the center of the arena with stark, white light.

Tonight, she wore just a tank top and heavy, Artificer's trousers with lots of pockets. Bangles covered her arms, ten on each side, and unlike when Wulf had seen her use the weapons last year, they had copper inlays and new runic channels. She'd upgraded the weapons.

As soon as she reached the center of the arena, she flicked her arms down, and silver wrist-blades unfolded from the foremost bangle. Each was nearly three feet long now, which couldn't have possibly fit inside the bangles without some kind of spatial manipulation. Bright blue lines joined each bangle, transmitting stored mana through wires.

"For our third fight tonight, we have a clash of siblings!" a voice called from the side of the arena. A glass booth hung over the west end, filled with the silhouettes of staff and faculty members. But, instead of the headmaster's voice, it was that of a student. She was relatively young, probably a third or fourth year.

The announcer said, "Seith Telgrad is up against her brother, Meirim! Seith, a new transfer from Istalis, is the only child of the Telgrad family who didn't make it to the Centralis Academy in her first year! The odds certainly reflect this."

Wulf could practically imagine Seith seething. Her family hadn't let her. But she was here to prove them wrong.

Still, on the east side of the arena, there was a massive sheet of enchanted parchment hanging from the wall, which displayed the odds: seventy to one, in favour of Seith's brother.

"And Meirim Telgrad, undefeated last semester, looks like he's spoiling for a fight. An old rivalry, maybe?" The announcer paused. "Looks like we're about to hear the start horn in a few seconds. For all matters related to the tournaments, remember: stick with Student's Union communications representative Vae Kella!"

As soon as she finished speaking, a brass horn blared, signalling the start of the fight.

Wulf wasn't sure if he could watch. Watching didn't do any good. Seith would either win, or she wouldn't. But he kept his eyes directly on the fight. Seith lunged forward aggressively, slashing with her wrist blades. Meirim deflected and dogged, immediately on the back-foot.

Despite the posted odds, the both of them were at the same rank: Middle-Coal. Seith's blows, however, smashed and sheared straight through the golem's marble armour, sending plumes of rock and dust scattering across the arena floor.

Wulf wished he could hear what they were saying. Their lips were moving, but he was much too far away, and with the general din of the crowd, he stood no chance.

The two exchanged blows. Meirim managed to turn the fight in his favour once, but Seith recovered quickly—never mind that she caught a stone fist in her hands and, with her enhanced strength, held it back.

And then it seemed that Seith was toying with her brother. She let it go on a little longer, as if she was relishing the attention, dodging, parrying, and striking.

Wulf never caught the end of the fight, but he knew who the victor would be without looking. Instead, something brushed against his ankles. It was soft, warm, and…was it purring?

He bent down to look under the bench…and saw Mantri.

The Messenger wove between his legs like most normal cats did, but it was unmistakable. Piercing green eyes, same patch of white fur.

"Mantri?" Wulf hissed. "What are you doing here?"

No one else was looking. Seith was hamming it up a little, and she kept the audience's attention with her almost-victorious blows. No one was looking at Wulf or Mantri, much less hearing them.

Wulf raised his arm and brushed his arm out quickly, then flattened his enchanted parchment and looked directly at it. Nothing. No indication of a Mark, let alone a Grand Mark.

The Messenger looked up at Wulf. Were his eyes bigger today? Mantri tilted his head, then opened his mouth. His ribs were sticking through his fur, and the tufts of fluff and whiskers on the side of his face were drooping.

"By the Field, Mantri, you look terrible," Wulf whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Was bored," Mantri replied softly. He opened his mouth, and it almost moved like a human's lips when talking.

"Are you…allowed to be here?"

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"